And Not More Than This
by EleanorK
Summary: Things were hectic, then. Uncertain. They still are now, but just a little less. He knows everything's a risk but goddammit, if they're going to get off, they're going to do it properly. Skin on skin, the whole way.


Neither of them have watch and so they know to meet in the shed. Everyone else knows too ,which used to bother him but doesn't anymore.

He won't talk about what they do, what they have, but he knows he can't stop anyone from thinking things or saying them, either. And that's fine.

It's fine because she's there already, stripped down to her bra and pants. Taking off her boots. Her knife and gun are on the floor. A bottle on the table. Could be wine or water. He doesn't care. _Ain't no date,_ he thinks, smirking.

* * *

He's got nothing in his hands; everything they need is here. He doesn't wait for her to sit up from unlacing her boots. Just pushes himself toward her. She knows he's already hard. She reaches around him, grabs his ass, presses her face against his stomach. She doesn't say anything and she knows he likes that. It makes it easier. He can just show her what he wants. Less embarrassing for him.

* * *

Pressed against her, he rubs his hands on her neck. Through her hair. It's this moment, more than any of the ones to come, that's the best. When everything's still ahead of them, and all those things will be good. Keep getting better, each time.

He steps back, sets down his gear, takes off his shirt. The first few times they did it, it was with most of their clothes on. Things were hectic, then. Uncertain. They still are now, but just a little less. He knows everything's a risk but goddammit, if they're going to get off, they're going to do it properly. Skin on skin, the whole way.

* * *

She stands, steps out of her boots, stretches her long arms all the way up toward the ceiling. Now she's filling up with excitement. The waiting is the foreplay.

She takes off her pants and hangs them over the chair. She doesn't wear underwear but still has on the bra. A second later, that's gone, too. She comes up to him, fully naked, rubbing against him, feeling around his pockets like a thief.

"What you got for me, huh," she says.

* * *

"Heh." He doesn't answer her. They don't talk about this, what they're doing, where they are, who they are. It feels good and they agree on that. Nothing beyond that works for them.

Maybe because there's nothing beyond that, though? He doesn't know. He couldn't figure this shit out before the turn. At least now he's been given a chance to learn. Her body, close up, all his. He doesn't take and she doesn't give. This is them. This is what they are. This is all they have.

* * *

She likes how he's steady and quick. Not reckless. He thinks about what he's doing. He wants to be precise. Sure. He doesn't lick or suck just for the sake of licking or sucking. He reads her body like he tracks an animal in the forest. His hand circling her belly, feeling for the trembling inside, while he reaches into her, deep, slow, strong. He pulls it out of her. He didn't know how it worked at first, but he learned quick. Not because he had so much experience with women. But because he listens. That's all there is to it, if a man wants to be good to a woman. You just need to listen.

* * *

It is a relief to go off whenever he feels like it. That he gets her to come with his mouth is a miracle. More than he ever thought possible - using his mouth's never led to much of anything but trouble.

Then his hands. In her, on her. Working her. That feels more natural to him, really. Pressure, tension, force. What he's always understood best. That those three things would make her gasp and sob, make sounds like laughing? He will never leave her again, just for that.

* * *

There are times when she wants to suck him and suck him and suck him and the hardness of his cock just makes her so happy to be alive. But he doesn't like teasing. There's something about him that's at heart unceasingly fair. He can't take it on his own. He'll swear, then, and lift her up and flip her over and fuck her from behind until they're both out of breath.

* * *

When he comes inside her, he feels like he knows why he was put on this earth. All the work and death and cruelty. That's what fuels his fight. Reminds him why people bother to go on with it. Lifting her to him, kissing her on the neck, they hold each other standing up, for just a few minutes until their breath comes back to normal rates.

That's when she'll start talking. Once the crucial business is taken care of, she will tell him what's on her mind.

* * *

She's putting on her boots, tucking her tits back into her bra. He's buttoning up his jeans, wiping his face and hands on his red handkerchief. She'll tell him a couple of things, he'll reply.

_What's there to eat,_ he might say.

_We need to double back to that other route, check out that barn_, she might say.

When her body's all tucked in and covered up, when his dick's back in his pants until the next go-round, that's when he loves her. Wishes they could have more. When he resolves that someday they'll get there. To a place where they can have a real life. More than this.

* * *

The best thing about him is how he does all of this so well. He is perfectly suited to this life, which makes her both sad and glad. Sad, because it is a hard life. Glad, because he keeps himself alive, keeps himself going, and this keeps others alive, keeps others going. What more of honor would she need in a man? He sleeps beside her at night. He works beside her during the day. They survive because of each other. For each other. Surviving is all they can do now. To survive is to succeed.

And she knows, because of him, even if he dies, she will continue to.


End file.
